


Near Misses and First Kisses

by White Queen Writes (fhartz91)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Kiss, Fluff, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Minor Anxiety, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 23:00:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20366512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhartz91/pseuds/White%20Queen%20Writes
Summary: Crowley has wasted over 6000 years not kissing his angel. He's decided today's the day ... but things don't go quite the way he planned.





	Near Misses and First Kisses

Crowley breathes in deep, filling his lungs to capacity, then pushes out. Breathes in deep, then pushes out; in and out … in and out … the ritual resembling something along the lines of Lamaze breathing to the rhythm of _Killer Queen _blaring through the speakers of his car stereo.

If he were human, he would’ve passed out by now.

Driving usually calms him down, but speeding through the city streets at a hundred-and-ten is doing nothing to slow the rapid beating of his heart, nothing to soothe his scattered nerves.

So he focuses on the task at hand, the one he’s rushing to get to.

Wish fulfillment.

_‘Today’s the day,’_ he thinks as he zips his way to Aziraphale’s shop. _‘This is it. No more excuses. Today’s the day I finally kiss my angel.’_

Crowley has the whole scene mapped out, plastered inside his brain. He’s been playing it thru over and over again, familiarizing himself with it so he doesn’t chicken out. As far as he’s concerned, it’s in the stars. _It izzz written_, he says to himself, mocking Beelzebub’s voice. He takes another breath in and out and reminds himself once again how it will go down.

Crowley will arrive and park in his usual spot across the street, which, of course, will be empty for him. He’ll saunter up to Aziraphale’s door, cool as a cucumber. He’ll knock, thus forcing Aziraphale to open the door and invite him in. He didn’t call ahead of time so Aziraphale won’t be expecting him.

Surprise.

The element of surprise is key.

Aziraphale will open the door, probably a bit put out that some rude customer not only dared to show up at his shop, but knocked instead of walking their happy asses on in. But when he sees Crowley, his face will light up the way it always does, with that angelic glow Crowley has himself convinced is only for him.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale will say, but Crowley won’t say a word. He’ll sweep his angel up in his arms and kiss him. It’ll be perfectly romantic – Crowley will make sure of that.

But as he turns the corner a block away, the grin that’s been growing on his face at the thought of it starts to fade.

What if that’s too forward for Aziraphale?

What if it’s too much?

It’s hard for him to believe, but he has been told he can be a bit much sometimes.

He turns the next corner and slams on the brakes, gripped by a case of mild panic, but it’s too late.

He has arrived.

A voice in his brain keeps repeating that it’s now or never.

If Crowley doesn’t kiss Aziraphale today, he might not find the courage for another thousand years or so.

And that would suck seeing as he’s waited 6000 years already.

What the heck happened to him? Why is he such a frickin’ train wreck? He wants to be sophisticated and devil-may-care like the demon that broke Aziraphale out of the Bastille. Where the heck did _that_ demon go?

He should have kissed him then. Holy Hellfire! _That_ would have been the time to do it, after he’d miracled those chains off his wrists. _That_ would have been romantic as all get out – the dashing rogue kissing his damsel in distress while still in the clutches of the enemy, like right out of the pages of a Harlequin Romance novel.

Not that he has any idea what’s in those. He doesn’t even read.

_Ahem_.

His mind floods with hundreds of times he could have kissed him, hundreds of opportunities lost, each more romantic than the last. He could have done it after he miracled that stain off Aziraphale’s coat. Or the night he invited him to stay over, before they were both sentenced to execution, or before lunch immediately after. What was he thinking!?

He sighs.

No use looking back. Move forward. Live for today and all that crap.

He decides to stick to the plan for now. Depending on how Aziraphale reacts when he sees him (as predictable as that reaction should be), the plan is subject to change.

He parks his Bentley. He gets out. He saunters across the street and up to the front door, all according to plan. He raises his closed fist to knock, his vision clear in his mind. But before he gets the chance to knock, the door swings open.

Crowley responds with a choked off noise of surprise.

Surprise. Well, that part worked, he guesses.

“Thank Heavens you’re here! Come in, come in! I need your help!” Aziraphale says, whisking back into his shop so quickly Crowley barely catches a glimpse of his face.

Crowley takes a step in and closes the door. He follows Aziraphale, waiting for a break in the conversation so he can rescue his plan back from off the rails, but whatever Aziraphale has on his mind to say, he’s not done.

“Do you remember that estate auction I won a few weeks ago? On that Internet website you showed me called E-bay?”

“I … guess?”

“The books have just arrived!” Aziraphale stops at a low wall of cardboard boxes crowding the doorway to his back room and gestures at them with delight. “I may have underestimated the amount because I don’t hardly have enough space to store them. So I need to get them unpacked and inventoried ASAP! Would you mind lending me a hand?”

“Why not just miracle them out of the boxes?” Crowley asks, groaning mentally in disgust at the thought of unpacking, dusting, and organizing what must be several hundred musty old books … especially considering his _plan_. “Save yourself the time and trouble of doing all the dirty work by hand?”

Aziraphale shoots Crowley a venomous glare, his glow dimming as his smile falls into a thin, unamused line. “I’m going to forget you said that.” With only a beat in between, he perks back up. “Come on! Just an hour or two, and then we can crack open the bottle of small batch whiskey they sent along with it to celebrate!”

“But Aziraphale, I …”

Aziraphale looks at Crowley for the first time since he’s arrived. His excitement doesn’t fade, but he looks tremendously guilty.

“Oh, I’m sorry! You _did_ stop over for a different reason, didn’t you? I shouldn’t assume …”

“No, no, no! No sorry needed!” Crowley can’t take this moment away from him. Aziraphale has been waiting weeks for these books. He remembers now. And he’s not going to stop him from enjoying them, no matter the reason. “It can wait. Let’s get started. The quicker we start, the quicker we finish, yes?”

Aziraphale’s face brightens again, the glow that accompanies it blinding. “Excellent! Yes! Let’s get started!”

***

“And you know, it took me a long time to get comfortable with the idea of this whole _online auction_ thing.” Aziraphale giggles, pleased beyond belief at his correct use of the modern vernacular for this situation. “I remember back in the old days, auctions were held in barns and town squares and whatnot. It didn’t seem logical to simply enter a price on the computer and then wait to see if you’d win. But _you_ told me that’s how things are done these days. _You_ said it would be all right. So, in the end, I said to myself, _Self, take the plunge! It’s an excellent opportunity to …_” Aziraphale turns to his sullen helper and looks him over thoughtfully. Crowley hasn’t said a word since they started. Not an acknowledgement, not a grunt, no verbal filler, even now when Aziraphale has stopped talking. He’s running on autopilot, absentmindedly dusting books off and stacking them into a pile without even touching them. He’s here, yes, and doing what Aziraphale asked, but his mind is a million miles away. If Aziraphale didn’t know any better, he’d say that the demon is pouting. Aziraphale puts down the book he’s dusting and sighs. “Crowley?”

“Hmm, what?” Crowley’s eyes snap up, blank and confused and disappointed all at once, which are difficult emotions for serpent eyes to convey, but he manages it.

“My goodness, dear boy! What in the Heaven is going on with you?”

“N-nothing. Why?”

“You’re awfully distracted, that’s why. Have you even heard a single thing I’ve said?”

“I … yes … no … hmm?”

Aziraphale gets up off the couch he’s sitting on and moves to sit beside Crowley. “Please, tell me what’s going on. You’ve got me a bit worried.”

“Uh … okay …” Crowley’s eyes drift to Aziraphale’s lips so swiftly the angel doesn’t seem to notice. “I …”

Aziraphale breathes in softly, _expectantly_ (since he’s waiting for an answer), and suddenly, Crowley decides this is it. The moment he’s been waiting for. He has Aziraphale’s complete attention. And he’s just inches away. He wouldn’t even have to make a big production out of it. A simple lean in will do. Move forward and kiss him on the mouth, quick and painless - probably not the best two adjectives to describe a first kiss, one he’s been waiting 6000 years for, but they’re the ones that pop to mind.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale says with honest concern. “Tell me what’s the matter? Is it something I said? Something I did?”

“I … I wanted to … well, I was hoping to …”

“Yes …?” Aziraphale leans in himself and Crowley’s brain short circuits. They are both perfectly poised for this kiss! It doesn’t get much better than this!

Crowley stops trying to explain, though he probably should be asking. But he can’t seem to get the words out. _Aziraphale, may I kiss you?_ There! It sounds so simple in his head. But he didn’t practice that. No, what he practiced in his head was a smooth, suave, swashbuckling-type maneuver … that got kneecapped the second Aziraphale opened the door.

But he can recover, bring it back to that. He’s just going to do it, no warning so he doesn’t scare Aziraphale off. One little peck, that’s all he’s aiming for.

Jesus Christmas! Hastur got it wrong. Mr. Slick he’s not.

Crowley doesn’t understand it! He’s done hundreds of temptations on random humans and never had performance anxiety this extreme! Of course, he’s never actually _kissed_ any of the humans he’s tempted. He’s never kissed _anybody_.

And Aziraphale isn’t a random human. He’s _Aziraphale_.

“Fuck it,” he mutters and shifts forward, Aziraphale’s lips mere breaths away. There’s no way he can screw this up. None whatsoever.

And eventually Crowley does succeed in kissing him, but it doesn’t turn out the way he’d planned - though, at this point, he has to accept that _the plan_ has gone belly up.

At the last possible moment, the bell over the bookshop door tinkles, and Aziraphale turns to see who has come in. Crowley kisses him, yes, but on the cheek, not the lips. He hears Aziraphale gasp, and without thinking to, without meaning to, Crowley makes time stop.

Aziraphale looks around, looks at _him_, feeling in the pit of his stomach what Crowley has done. The look in his eyes throws Crowley for its utter imperceptibility.

Is Aziraphale angry? Does he feel Betrayed? Violated?

Does he hate him now?

_Oh, God! What did he do!? What did he do!? Why didn’t he just ask? That would have been the best course of action, plan be dammed! And he knew it! He knew better! He’s so stupid!_

“I … I-I-I-I-I … I’m sorry!” Crowley scoots back on the sofa a foot. “I’m so sorry! I should have asked! I shouldn’t have assumed …”

“You missed.” Aziraphale’s voice rises only slightly above a whisper, but it’s firm, clear, and now Crowley is thoroughly confused.

“Come again?”

“You missed, my dear.” Aziraphale puts a hand to Crowley’s cheek, caressing gently. With none of the fear, anxiety, or clumsiness of his demon companion, he closes the gap between them, tilts his head, and kisses Crowley on the lips. When Crowley doesn’t react, too stunned to think straight, Aziraphale kisses him again. He kisses him and kisses him till Crowley comes back from the recesses of his frazzled brain and starts kissing him back, his hand finding the back of Aziraphale’s head and bringing him closer.

No, it’s not a peck, and it’s not quick, but it’s also not ambitious, because that’s not what kisses should be. It’s an exchange, a communication. In that one kiss, Aziraphale tells Crowley how long he’s waited, how much he’s wanted, how patient he’s been, how frightened for never, and now, how much he loves him.

And Crowley says it back.

It’s also not painless.

There’s heartbreak in that kiss - arguments, minor insults, fears of loss, of never evers, of gone for all eternity.

Of mourning best friends.

As far as first kisses go, this one is magical.

Neither angel nor demon want the kiss to end, but there comes a natural pause, and in it, Aziraphale smiles. “Is that why you came over here today? To kiss me?”

“Mmm … maybe …” Crowley mumbles, his forehead resting against Aziraphale’s, in no hurry to be anywhere outside of these few inches. “Well … ngh … I … yeah. Yeah it is.”

“Good.” Aziraphale sits back slowly, straightening his vest, a silent cue for Crowley to start time again. “I’m glad.”

“Are you really?” Crowley’s body follows Aziraphale as he makes to leave the room, subconsciously determined to follow wherever he leads from this day forward.

“Yes.” Aziraphale’s eyes meet Crowley’s shyly before he stands to greet his customers. “You saved me the bus fare.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of my favorite tropes. I write it a lot. Don't @ me XD


End file.
